


Ties

by Augustus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-02
Updated: 2006-08-02
Packaged: 2018-08-16 08:28:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8095111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Augustus/pseuds/Augustus
Summary: The best families rarely change.





	

Mealtime at the Llewelyn mansion, on the outskirts of Swansea, was usually a solemn affair. Neither Rhiannon nor Ioan were particularly light hearted in nature, and conversations between courses generally focussed on the politics of the day or the less scandalous forms of social gossip. Pansy had learnt to loathe such meals when she was only a small child. The antique chairs were straight-backed and uncomfortable, their cushions badly sprung and filled with horsehair that had aged into hard lumps. Even as a toddler, she had not been allowed to fidget and, as she aged, she began to fancy that her own body would one day mould itself to the shape of her grandparents' chairs. Ernest Parkinson was not often silenced, but mealtimes with his parents-in-law were one of the few occasions when he was on his best behaviour. Pansy felt almost as though her father were a traitor to their common heart, betraying her through his own silent acceptance that, in that house, the Llewelyns ruled.

After an evening meal had been cleared away by nervous and bowing house-elves, the dinners would commonly retire to the parlour, where Ernest, if present, would quickly down a double firewhisky while Catrin looked the other way. When she was younger, Pansy had been excused at this time, and she would gratefully escape to her bedroom and play with the dollhouse that had been her grandmother's and mother's before her. Now, however, she was expected to make conversation with the adults and to hold her own in any after-dinner debates that might arise.

Rhiannon Llewelyn's favourite phrase, Pansy had decided, must surely be, 'How do you say that in Welsh?' Sometimes she dreamed in her grandmother's voice, all indistinct shapes and floating phrases, but always returning to those same few words. _Beth yw hwn yn Gymraeg... Beth yw hwn yn Gymraeg..._ Rhiannon's obsession with her country's native tongue was political rather than personal. Catrin had told Pansy years ago that her mother had known only a few minor phrases as a child; it was not a fashionable language then, and the better families spoke only in English, modelling even their accents on those of their English neighbours. Her interest had risen when Catrin herself was a small child and Rhiannon's nationalistic tendencies were at their peak. Catrin, too, had been subject to the same grilling that Pansy had grown to despise. 

Both daughter and granddaughter, however, had absorbed Rhiannon's love of Wales, and it had grown within them as they, too, had matured. It was not Rhiannon's blind Celtic patriotism, but rather a more sedate knowledge of belonging and kin. Pansy often mocked her mother's yearnings for the scent of the Swansea docks and the impossible greens of the dark hills that rise to the north, but she felt the same pull inside whenever she allowed herself to acknowledge it. Home, to her, flowed within her blood. 

The best families rarely change. Just like the dollhouse that had been played with over three generations, the pattern of relationships within the Llewelyn family was passed from parent to child, with little room for adjustment for individual character or the shifting ways and beliefs of contemporary times. Pansy could see her relationship with her mother reflected in Catrin's relationship with Rhiannon. Their love was genuine, apparent in a cast of the eyes or a shared smile, but their lives were spent pulling in opposite directions. Catrin, when young, had sought solace in Ioan's silent study. Later she had found it in Ernest, who had personified Catrin's teen rebellion. And, as life is wont to echo itself, it was Ernest who later became Pansy's greatest mentor and guiding light. She was her father's daughter, but through his brashness and colour, Pansy learnt to know and appreciate her mother's influences as well.

Pansy did not much like her grandmother, but she respected and loved her in her own, off-handed way. She was a part of Pansy's mother, after all, and in turn, a part of her. It was the same knowledge of history and descent that fuelled the upcoming blood war that had recently become the key topic of discussion in the Llewelyn home. Mealtime was not the appropriate forum for talk of Unforgivables and Muggles, but the parlour had quickly become the host to soft-voiced conversation about where the Llewelyns, and in turn the Parkinsons, might eventually make their stand.

Her own Bristol accent sounding harsh amidst the softer Welsh tones of her mother and grandparents, Pansy truly spoke her mind for the first time in such surrounds. Ioan nodded, characteristically silent, but with pride in his fading eyes. Catrin, however, turned away. As her mother reached for the firewhisky, Pansy couldn't help but see a momentary echo of her father's vices. Patterns: all patterns. Everything solid had happened before.


End file.
